


Aerobics

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sometimes Kirk and Sulu run into each other after a workout.





	Aerobics

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It started off simple, just a few side-glances in the gym from across the work mat—Hikaru appreciating his captain’s well-defined figure and Kirk returning the sentiment. A winning smile here, a playful wink there, and Hikaru dared a little more—he made the first flirtatious comment, only to have one shot right back at him. He took his shirt off the next time he went down to fence, and Kirk’s eyes lingered across Hikaru’s chiseled chest before noting that he liked what he saw. 

Flirtation in the open rec room led to flirtation in the locker room, then fleeting glances in the shower, an experimental touch here and there, and, finally, eager, exploring hands. Hikaru still vividly remembers crowding into the cubicle with Kirk, flattened up tight behind the privacy screen, and letting his hands run everywhere they wanted as Kirk’s mouth pressed into his shoulder. 

Hand-jobs became blow-jobs, and Kirk became _Jim_. Hikaru sometimes still moans, “_Captain_,” when he comes. Jim says anything—Hikaru’s given name, his surname, his rank, and other times just _yes._ Hikaru’s satisfied with everything. It’s only supposed to be quick little snippets of affection, after all—something purely physical. They’re two full grown Terran men out in the vastness of space, so far away from home, and sometimes they need solace in the warm body of another human. Besides, Jim’s insanely _good_ at it.

Jim drives deep into him, flattening him against the lockers, and Hikaru loves it too much to care that anyone could walk in. He thinks Jim said something at the beginning—maybe telling the computer to lock off the area—but it doesn’t matter. He trusts his captain implicitly. He doubts anyone would report them, especially when it would have to go right over the captain’s head, straight to an admiral. The admiral would probably just shake their head and sigh over the inevitable. Jim’s too handsome a man to stay celibate, and Hikaru has needs too. 

Sometimes he wonders if this ever happens with other people, and in the heat of the moment, that only turns him on. He likes to think of Chekov kneeling before the captain’s chair or Spock bent over the science station. They’re all friends, all people Hikaru respects. In the normal faux daylight of the alpha shift, Hikaru never mentally undresses them. Then he crosses paths with Jim down in the gymnasium, and suddenly everything on the Enterprise reeks of _sex_.

Jim’s free hand claws around his hip, cupping his ass, his legs locked tight around Jim’s middle. His arms stay looped around Jim’s shoulders, holding on—Jim’s weight pins him against the wall. It’s an awkward angle, but it works. That’s part of the reason for working out; he’s flexible enough to manage. By now, he’s had Jim in most positions and visa versa. Jim fills Hikaru’s mouth up with tongue and grinds into his ass, strokes his cock, then grunts against his open lips, “Going to—”

Hikaru licks his lips and presses in another frantic kiss. He’s close too but still needs _more_. Then he thinks about how wildly _hot_ Jim was this morning, facing off against two Klingon ships without so much as blinking. He’s the bravest man Hikaru’s ever known, but he rarely bluffs—he has the brains and brawn and raw _talent_ to back it up. It’s no wonder he has the whole crew’s respect. And Hikaru gets to stand right beside him—piloting his precious ship anywhere he wants. 

This is one of those times where Jim grunts out, “_Sulu_.” Hikaru wouldn’t be offended if Jim said another name, but he never does. He shudders and comes deep inside Hikaru, driving it home with steady thrusts. His fist tightens around Hikaru’s cock, and a few pumps send Hikaru over—he buries his moan inside Jim’s mouth. His hips keep up their spasms afterwards, cock still twitching. He doesn’t flag until Jim’s sliding them both down the wall.

They sit on the hard floor in a sweaty heap. They’re both still shirtless from their workout, Jim in his absurd red pants and Hikaru in the black ones from his uniform. He almost thinks of asking if they can move this to a bed—maybe go back to Jim’s quarters and enjoy a proper afterglow.

Then Hikaru realizes how desperately he needs a shower, and he remembers that it’s past Gertrude’s feeding time. Their regular lives are calling.

Jim’s the one to disentangle them. He does so respectfully, never rushed or shameful, and he helps Hikaru up afterwards, even asking, “You alright, Lieutenant?”

“Fine, Sir.” He always is. Even if he’s a little sore, they have hyposprays for that, and Jim’s rarely rough enough to break through his resilience. Jim nods, smiles, and leans in for a fleeting kiss.

Then they part ways, like the separate entities they are. But Hikaru’s still glad to have shared the moment—he’d follow his captain anywhere.


End file.
